The cell reeked of blood, rust, and human waste and Silas exhaled slowly and glanced at the table beside him with a casual expression of someone doing his daily job.
The metal tray was crowded with tools that could belong to an operating room or a dentist or the favorite set of a serial killer.
Every instrument was coated in drying blood. He peeled the red-stained gloves from his hands and dropped them onto the mess.
"That all you got? You are softer than I thought," the Giant rasped, coughing up blood and teeth that clattered to the floor.
Victor hung shirtless, arms stretched by heavy chains bolted into the wall. Old bullet scars and knife wounds mapped his chest like a battlefield.
He looked like he had survived hell more than once.
"Do not pretend to be tough, Victor. I know this is tearing you apart," Silas said.
He sat lazily on a metal chair and lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his blood-spattered face.
